Blogging just wasn't the same before the digital camera era. How else would we know the of the weird, wacky, whimsical behaviors of our knitbloggers? Can you think of another group of people who joyfully document their mistakes for their peers? Short of an inquiry panel into a Shuttle Disaster, or a pathologist's autopsy, both of which fall far short of joyful, we do seem to be unique.
Saturday was an auspicious day of knitting mistakes. The Etherknitter really WAS paying attention, which makes the whole episode even worse. I cast on for Marla's front with a #7 needle, forgetting, of course, that the garter hem was knit on a #5. So I went down a size, to a #6 needle. There's two mistakes. When I finally got that I should be using a #5, I switched at row#2. There's number three. Do I keep it? Do I frog it? Juno's post was fresh in my mind. I brought it over to the finished back of Marla to see if I could tell a difference. It didn't match. I yanked it out in a fit of pique. None of this really felt unusual. UNTIL I realized I had frogged it before getting a picture. UNTIL I knit up a swatch duplicating the mistake so I could show you a picture. Now THAT is the aberrant, abnormal, anomalous part. The top picture is good Marla. The bottom swatch on the bamboo needle is bad Marla. There is a gap between the CO row and row #1 that doesn't exist on good Marla. Byebye bad Marla.
(Needless to say, I CO again last night on a #6, knit row #1 on a #5, and inadvertantly switched to the #6 for row #2 because I had not moved the #6 needle from my lap. When I finished the row, I just reached for....a needle. That row was frogged this morning, and maybe I have now moved the #6 to a project bag. Just maybe. Sometimes one needs to be stern about these things.)
Yesterday was my Aunt Cele's 92nd birthday. She is the last one of that generation. She lives alone and does well.
We drove to Connecticut to celebrate. There was cake.
There was food. There were presents. She stopped knitting after my mother died in 1998. This was a dreadful landmark in her life (heck, in anybody's life), because she had been knitting since 1934. When I started knitting, I leaned on her to knit again. I brought my FOs and WIPs for her to see. The Eleanor scarf (a lacey morsel) intrigued her. I bought the pattern for her, and ZOOM. She hasn't looked back.
My mother and aunt knit for me all my life. It came to an end when my mother died, which is another story for another day. Auntie showed me her extra special last scarf she knitted before she ran out of scarf yarn.
"It's a Japanese yarn with lots of colors. You don't get bored because you never know what's going to come next. You can't tell how big the stripes will be, it's fun." Yes, I jumped for joy when she handed it to me, and said, "Here. It's yours." She is not a contemplative woman, and this was clearly a spontaneous gesture. I have a new Auntie handknit, from Noro: